


Unsheathed

by Xyriath



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (but i'm not gonna go into rambling about sengoku hierarchies in an AO3 tag), (shiro wasn't exactly), (sooo just take this tag for the aesthetic), (sort of), Blood and Gore, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Demon Keith (Voltron), M/M, Revenge, Samurai, Vague lube that you can interpret as you will, Wall Sex, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 02:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15741996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: Your body will be forfeit,the sword had promised,once your enemies are dead.For Shiro—to avenge his clan, to take back what is his—the terms had been easy to accept.





	Unsheathed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nekora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekora/gifts).



> Written for the Monstertron Exchange on tumblr!

A pounding heartbeat roars through Shiro’s ears, the only sound in the deathly-silent room.

Just moments ago, it had been filled with—so much more.  Screams.  Shouts.  Sobs.  Choking and gagging and gasping and pleading—

But as Shiro stands alone in the room, the darkness ebbs.

As the roar fades and Shiro comes back to himself, he realizes that there is a singular sound, still, steady and rhythmic, intruding on his silence.

The _drip, drip, drip_ of blood.

Shiro takes one deep breath, then another.  His sight returns to him gradually, eyes struggling to focus in the darkness.  They flick down to the tatami mat at his feet, and as he spots a dark pool slowly spreading towards his geta, takes a nimble step backwards.

Given the night’s breeze alerting to the liquid cooling on his skin, it probably won’t make much of a difference, but he can at least keep his shoes clean.

His gaze continues to slide along the floor, lazily taking in the sight before him.  A katana, hacked in two, one half buried in the mat and sticking up like a banner.  A hand, severed at the wrist, a splatter of dark liquid underneath it.  A man’s face, expression twisted in agony, above a slashed torso, black with blood.

Shiro takes another step back, exhaling with satisfaction, a slow smile curving up his face.  It… aches, in a surprising way, and he realizes that his mouth hasn’t done that in quite some time.

He admires the bodies littering the floor; dozens of them, every single one a face that he knows well.  Every single one that of a traitor, and to see the terror of their final moments in their faces…

_You are satisfied, then?_

The hissing voice echoes within his mind, that of his constant companion these past ten years.  His eyes linger on the katana on his right, on the blade dripping blood onto the tatami.  Dark smoke curls softly around the handle, coalescing into a phantom hand, more of a shadow than anything in this dark light, and the matching wrist and arm that reached up, up—

Until it attaches to Shiro’s shoulder.

He hesitates, for just a moment.  He knows the terms of this deal, knows what fate awaits him when it is completed.

He nods, slowly but surely.

“Yes.”

A breath of satisfaction from within, not Shiro’s, but soon—about to be.   _Your body will be forfeit._  At the time, it had seemed a small price to pay for revenge.

And beholding the results now, taking in the death and carnage and blood that splatters both the room and Shiro’s form, he decides, fiercely, that it is still worth it.

_Then you are prepared to fulfil your side of the bargain._

Shiro lifts the katana in front of himself, inspecting it carefully.  The once-red hilt has gone black, the blade pulsing with an energy that leaves a pressure building in Shiro’s ears.  Linked as they are, the desperate yearning of the katana’s spirit pulses through him.  It wants—a form.  A presence.

“I am.”

He closes his eyes and readies himself to be consigned to oblivion, to be snuffed out, for the spirit to seize his body and erase the soul that was Shirogane Takashi from existence—

And then the presence is _gone,_ as if wiped from existence, and Shiro gasps and staggers, bereft of the presence that had lingered within him for a decade.  He’s _alone_ , truly alone, and he recoils from that knowledge as the katana clatters to the floor, his arm gone.

What—

A footstep sounds behind him, and he whirls.

Red eyes gleam in the darkness, and Shiro gasps and takes another step back.

“Who are you?” Shiro breathes, but—

“You know who I am,” says the figure, and as it steps forward, moonlight bathing its naked body, Shiro knows that it’s right.

“Keith,” he breathes, a chill running through him.  The foreign name that he thought he would only ever hear ringing in his mind, now spilling from his lips.

“Yes,” the form murmurs, and even as it approaches, Shiro doesn’t move.

The sword—his sword— _Keith_ —possesses an unearthly beauty.  Fine, cold, delicate features, as sharp as the blade that he had been, moments ago. Black hair fell in soft wisps around a pale face, red eyes piercing straight into Shiro’s soul.

“But how?” Shiro whispered, as the sword reached out to run his fingers down Shiro’s cheek.  They chilled his skin, as smooth as metal, but Shiro didn’t move.  His body was forfeit, after all.

The fingers slide up, the hand cupping Shiro’s cheek.  The red eyes don’t move.

“Revenge.  Blood.  Malice.  All powerful things.  And with enough…”  Keith’s mouth spreads in a grin, and Shiro realizes, with a swallow, that the canines are pointed.  “…a youkai like me can take form.  You’ve fed me, Shiro, and now…”  The fingers slide underneath Shiro’s chin, tilting it up, and Shiro allows it.  “I can take what is mine.”

“You don’t want to possess me, then.”  There’s a strange numbness in the realization that, despite your expectations for the past ten years, you won’t be erased from existence after all.

“Not in the way you seem to think,” Keith replies, voice wry, and he reaches up to take Shiro’s face in both hands.  “I want to take your body with my own.  I want to know what it’s like, to be with a human.  Inside a human.”  The grin shifts into a smirk.  “In a new way, of course.”

The hands fall from Shiro’s face, and fingers curl in the ties of his hakama.  Shiro’s breathing stops.

“Here?”

“This was your clan’s household, before the betrayal, was it not?  Is it so strange to consummate our bargain here, now that I’ve helped you reclaim it?”

For that, Shiro has no answer.  And now that his soul is no longer at risk of destruction…

And Keith is so, so beautiful.

“No,” Shiro breathes, unable to look away, and the hakama falls to the floor.

Though the evening is warm, Shiro shivers as his kimono falls away; in part from fear, in part from anticipation, and in part from the cold fingers tracing down bare skin.  As Keith steps forward, pushing Shiro back, he kicks aside the blood-soaked clothing until Shiro’s back presses against the wall.

He grips Shiro’s thighs, hoisting him up with an inhuman strength, and then presses forward, his lips claiming Shiro’s with a cold, fierce possessiveness.

And Shiro sags into it, kissing back, opening willingly for Keith to use as he pleases.  Though cold, at first, Keith warms some, like metal.  For someone who has never had a human form, Keith seems to know how to tease, at the very least, slick fingers exploring in intimate places.  And when he finally thrusts into Shiro, impaling himself deep inside, Shiro can’t help but throw his head back in ecstasy.

“Ahh,” Keith breathes into Shiro’s ear as they rock in a frantic, punishing rhythm against the wall.  “Yes, I much prefer this.”

Shiro hasn't yet taken a lover before. Losing his clan, his family, his home, had left the option a far-fetched dream. And he'd certainly never expected it to be like—

This.

Keith's fingers curl around Shiro's cock, curious more than anything else, and Shiro groans as the smooth, cold hand teases, finds the sensitive spots with what seems to almost be wonder.

Shiro groans under the ministrations, the pain mingling with pleasure in a way that reminds Shiro, whether he likes it or not, that he's still  _alive._

And for the first time in a very, very long time, something within him stirs that isn't revenge or hatred.

"Harder," he gasps out, left arm curling around Keith's neck, and he arches forward clumsily, demanding more of that inhuman sensation inside of him.

And Keith obliges, pinning him and using him ruthlessly, mouth catching Shiro's in a punishing kiss that Shiro drinks in desperately.

They finish violently, with gasps and scratches and a bite deep into Shiro’s collarbone that will scar him for the rest of his days.

And as they come down together, sinking to the floor in a boneless pile, Keith reaches out to brush a long strand of hair out of Shiro’s face.

Shiro’s eyes open, just halfway, and at Keith’s expression, can’t help but smile faintly.

"This," Keith says softly. "I want this. I want you."

Shiro has to lick his lips twice before he can reply.

"You... you have it. This. Me. Everything."

Keith grins again, the satisfaction of a beast prepared to sate its hunger.

"I do. And... so do you. Keep me fed, with your flesh and that of your enemies, and this will be yours for eternity."

Shiro's breath caught, his heart thrumming with mingled fear and excitement.

Instead of answering, he reaches out, taking Keith's face, and pulling him in for a kiss. Keith chuckles against him, surging forward, and Shiro lands on his back with a thud and a gasp of delight.

They’re not finished with each other yet.


End file.
